


Refreshing

by Laramie



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Escort Service, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 17:57:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6434539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laramie/pseuds/Laramie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One evening, Thomas makes the decision to call an escort agency.</p>
<p>Mod AU. Sort of Thommy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Refreshing

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for a prompt from acertaindefenseattorney.

As the door opened, Thomas caught a glimpse of the young man's profoundly bored expression before it was plastered over with a smiling mask.

"I'm from the agency," he said in a deep, rich tone. He was breathtakingly handsome.

Thomas shut his mouth, which had fallen open, and stepped back in silent invitation. The man entered, glancing around Thomas's flat with casual interest. It was a small place, with the kitchen on the left of the hall as one came in the door, the living room ahead, and the en suite bedroom to the right.

As the front door clicked shut, the man turned to face Thomas. "What is it you want?" he murmured. He moved closer as he spoke, just slightly into Thomas's personal space - enough to make adrenaline spike in Thomas's bloodstream.

"Do you want a drink?" Thomas blurted out in a wild urge to cease the man's approach.

For a brief moment, the man seemed to be trying to get the measure of Thomas; then he smiled gently, saying: "Sounds good. What do you have?"

Quickly, Thomas did a mental scan of his kitchen cupboards. Not a lot. "Orange juice?" he suggested.

"Fine."

Thomas went into the kitchen and pulled a carton of UHT orange juice out of a cupboard. He hadn't been buying much fresh food lately. As he grabbed two upturned glasses from the draining board and put them right-way-up on the breakfast bar, he asked: "What's your name, anyway?"

"Jimmy Kent," the man replied. He took a seat at the breakfast bar when Thomas gestured at it, then added, with a self-assured smirk: "At your service."

Thomas smiled as he slid Jimmy's glass of juice across to him, in an odd converse to Jimmy's words. He stood on the opposite side of the breakfast bar, clutching his glass close to his chest. "I'm Thomas."

"Good to meet you, Thomas," Jimmy responded.

After a few awkward moments of silence, they drifted into a conversation about the previous night's telly. Jimmy laughed at Thomas's dry observations. It made Thomas feel fizzy and light until he remembered that Jimmy was probably paid for that. Maybe _some_ of the laughter was genuine, though.

When the conversation fell into a lull, Jimmy tilted his glass towards him and looked down into the yellowish stain at the bottom of it. "Why tonight?"

Thomas hesitated, not sure that he wanted to share the whole story. "I'm celebrating," he said truthfully.

"What are you celebrating?" Jimmy questioned, with a bit of a squint.

They locked eyes. Thomas's heart beat harder.

"Have you eaten yet?"

"Um - no," Jimmy responded with no small amount of surprise.

"Can I make you dinner?" Thomas wasn't sure why he had the urge to cook, all of a sudden. He hadn't managed more than beans on toast for weeks now. And yet now it was as though all his previous energy was returning to him.

"Okay," Jimmy said with a shrug. "Thanks."

After checking whether Jimmy had any allergies (he did - seafood and peanuts, neither of which Thomas had), Thomas set about figuring out what to make. In the fridge, he found two chicken breasts which he had bought in a fit of optimism a few days ago. He added them, a can of chopped tomatoes, some frozen broccoli and some chopped-up garlic to a casserole dish. The basil plant on the windowsill was starting to look a bit shrivelled, but he managed to pluck a few leaves to drop into the mixture. On top of it all, he laid some slices of mozzarella before sliding the pot into the oven.

As he prepared dinner, he and Jimmy had continued talking. Already, Thomas had begun to see that Jimmy had a wicked sense of humour.

Now, Thomas said: "Shall we go into the other room?"

Jimmy hopped off the high stool obligingly and made his own way through to the living room with Thomas at his heels. They settled down on the sofa and continued their conversation for a while.

Just as Thomas was about to turn on the TV, he said instead: "I'm celebrating because I took my employers to court, and I won."

Surprise lifted Jimmy's eyebrows. "Oh. Congratulations, then. You want to talk about it?"

Thomas wondered how best to summarise the years of ambition and backstabbing and bitterness that had made up his time at Downton Hotel. "I suppose… they didn't like that I'm gay," he said eventually. Sudden fear stabbed him in the gut at making the admission, even though he knew that Jimmy wouldn't - and couldn't - say anything bad about it. Thomas had been hiding for so long.

"Ugh, what fucking century do they think we're in?" Jimmy derided. He laid a hand on Thomas's thigh and stroked up and down, adding: "Why don't we prove them wrong?"

It was good to feel the contact of another human being, even as Jimmy's palm skated higher. Thomas covered Jimmy's hand with his own. Although he pushed it off his thigh, saying: "I don't want to have sex," he kept a gentle grip on Jimmy's hand.

"What do you want to do, then?" Jimmy asked. It seemed a genuine question, born out of curiosity, rather than frustration. Jimmy would get paid either way, after all.

Thomas stroked Jimmy's hand with his thumb, embarrassed to admit, in a low voice: "I just had good news and I realised there wasn't anyone I wanted to celebrate with."

Slowly, Jimmy leaned in and tenderly kissed the corner of Thomas's mouth, before saying insincerely: "Poor baby."

Thomas grinned. The lack of pity in Jimmy's voice made him feel more as though it was a temporary state of affairs. "I suppose you've got loads of friends."

"For tonight it's just the two of us," Jimmy said, sidestepping the query with the ease of someone well used to avoiding personal questions. He smiled. "When's dinner ready, then?"

"I'll check it," Thomas said; he got to his feet and only paused for a moment or two to look at the back of Jimmy's head, the bright blonde hair.

He dished up the chicken and they ate at the breakfast bar. Jimmy teased his rough-and-ready cooking skills and Thomas offered jokingly to make him a three-course Sunday dinner next time. Jimmy smirked at him and sucked a drop of tomato sauce off his finger.

"Sounds good."

They ate, and laughed, talked, and laughed some more, mostly at the mocking things Thomas said about his former colleagues. Jimmy looked so right, sitting there opposite him, a fork in his hand and a smile on his face. It didn't feel as though Thomas had paid him to be there - Jimmy was good at his job, he supposed. He made Thomas feel at ease and yet fluttery, all at once. He revealed very, very little about himself; Thomas found himself desperate to know more, but he tried not to pry, to respect Jimmy's right to privacy.

When their time together came to an end, Thomas showed Jimmy to the door. "Can I see you again?" he found himself asking.

Jimmy reached into his pocket. For a brief, wild moment, Thomas thought he was reaching for a personal card, or for something to write his number on - but the hope was dashed when he caught sight of a small pouch of tobacco in his fingers. "Sure," Jimmy said. "Just give the agency a call."

Thomas nodded, then gestured to Jimmy's pouch of baccy. "I smoke too. D'you mind if I walk down with you for a cigarette?"

"Long as you bring your own," Jimmy teased.

Thomas kept his cigarettes in his coat pocket, which was hung on a hook by the door. He dug them out and waved them at Jimmy, whose mouth curved up on one side in response. They made their way to the ground floor. It was drizzling, so they huddled in the porch for their smoke. Thomas lit Jimmy's cigarette for him and they chatted idly until the cigarettes had burnt down to embers.

"Goodnight, then," Thomas said reluctantly.

Jimmy gave Thomas a solid kiss on the lips. "Goodnight, Thomas," he said. "And congratulations on your victory. Don't let the bastards grind you down, eh?"

"I'll try," Thomas answered. The two of them shared a wave, and then Thomas watched Jimmy walk through the drizzle and climb into his car. It wasn't until Jimmy's brake lights had disappeared around the corner that Thomas turned to go back inside.

 


End file.
